Coal and Firewood

Chapter Four

Things have been a little weird lately. I can't take the conversation I had with Johanna off my mind, but I still don't know how am I supposed to talk to Peeta. I don't even know what I would say to him. Besides, there's another thing I have to deal with right now. After being tried and forgiven for my crimes, it was decided that one of the conditions for me to live in 12 would be talking to Dr. Aurelius, for an hour, once a week. I avoided it for as long as I could, but now that the word has spread that Johanna and I live together – she has to talk to her head doctor too – it was impossible to ignore the phone constantly ringing.

We decided that during the time one of us is on the phone with the doctor, the other one leaves the house so we can have more privacy. It doesn't really matter to me, I still talk as little as I can, just enough for him to think that I'm actually trying. It's different for her. I know that for two reasons: first because, more than once, I have come home to find her sniffing, attempting to hide her bloodshot eyes. We never talk about it; the second reason took me some time to notice. It started out as something small, but it became kind of a habit after a while. After her sessions, Johanna has a tendency of staying unusually quiet, speaking only when it's extremely necessary. She used to spend the rest of the day glancing at me, like there was something on her mind that she wanted to tell me but didn't know how.

Until, one night, she did speak. As the both of us faced our terrors, wanting desperately to fall back asleep, she started her usual chatter that was meant to distract us from our own minds. Except, this time, it wasn't a funny story about Annie and Kaleo or something stupid that she witnessed during her time as a mentor in the Capital – she told me about living in district 7. It was all very vague and confusing, but it still made me happy to think that she's beginning to trust me enough to open up about her past.

So, day after day, I pick up pieces of information: something she used to play with the kids at school; a quick tale about a group of drunk lumberjacks who lost their axes; places she used to go everyday; and names she occasionally lets slip and regrets right after. Names of people I've never heard of and are probably long gone. I wonder who they were, her parents, friends, siblings? Lovers, maybe? She doesn't tell me and I don't dare to ask.

After a while, I decided to confide in her too. Dr. Aurelius encourages it, he says that it's good for me to have a friend I can talk to – even though he always adds that he should be the friend I talk to. Johanna and I keep going to the woods every morning, I feel my body becoming stronger again and I can manage to actually hunt now. But being there always ends up bringing me back memories and, eventually, I talk. About my childhood, my father, and everything he's ever taught me. She listens attentively and doesn't ask me questions either. It's like there is this unsaid rule between the two of us: whatever is shared in low, muffled voices, in the darkness of the night or the absolute silence of the woods, is never to be brought up later. It works for us.

So, this afternoon, as I sit on a chair, in Peeta's house, watching him paint and waiting for Johanna's session to be over, I can't help but wonder what type of story she is going to tell me today. The painting is confusing, the colours don't seem right and the lines are slightly blurry. This is normal now since he transfers the confusion in his mind to his artwork. We are surrounded by it, all around the room, misshapen figures watch me and it's difficult to tell what he tried to portray in most of them, but someone in particular is present in many: me, in different scenarios and situations, some real, others not. It unsettles me to a point where I can't hold it back anymore:

"Hey," I call him "I really need to ask you something." Oh no, what am I doing?

"What is it?" he says, smiling. I don't have to do this, do I?

"Uh..." I hesitate. I focus my attention on a painting of me wearing a beautiful dress designed by Cinna. The eyes look almost too real, like they're looking into my soul, judging me, waiting for my next move. No. This has to stop. "Peeta, do you–" I sigh "do you still want us to be a, uh... couple?"